


Chivalry

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A former Kingsman thinks he can kidnap Eggsy and use him to make Harry do his bidding. He's right, but not for the reason he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chivalry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HumanTrampoline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/gifts).



> For [HumanTrampoline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/pseuds/HumanTrampoline) because she wanted Harry in distress. And because I can't thank her enough for her support and encouragement with my writing.

"Did you know," Charlemagne says casually, "that Kingsman is better armed and equipped than most nations? I mean, when was the last time you were in Havana?"

When Harry says nothing, Charlemagne simply smiles. "Oh, right. I can see by your fashionable English paleness that you haven't been anywhere lately. Although…you haven't exactly been idle, have you?" He reaches out to touch the scar tracing its way across Harry's forehead.

Harry jerks his head away before he can make contact, but he can't go far, not tied to the chair like he is. There is nothing he can do as Charlemagne's hand settles humiliatingly on the top of his head, thumb tracing over the scar. "Who was it? I'd like to send them a thank-you card."

That is a question he certainly isn't going to answer. Not that he would give Charlemagne the satisfaction of a reply anyway. Harry settles for staring stonily ahead as the former Kingsman presses against his scar. "Does it hurt?" The hopeful note in the question is unsurprising.

It's been twelve years since he saw Charlemagne, since that disastrous mission in Bulgaria that left two Kingsman agents dead and led to Charlemagne himself being stripped of his knighthood and cast from the ranks. Harry never even knew his real name. They were the only two survivors of that horrible weekend, and it was the feed from Harry's glasses that led to Charlemagne's expulsion, revealing his true nature and the role he played in all those deaths.

He hasn't seen the man since then. To the best of his knowledge, no one has. Harry didn't even see him when they passed on the street, although he felt the pinprick on his wrist as their arms brushed, just two strangers forced into physical contact because of the crowds. By the time he turned to look, he was already dizzy, his vision blurring.

And now he is here, wherever this is. Except for this chair and a small table off to one side, the room is otherwise empty. They are in a flat somewhere, perhaps. His hands are bound behind him, then attached to the chair, so there will be no getting up. Reinforcing his supposed helpless state, his ankles have been tied to the chair as well. His glasses and signet ring have been removed, but that's only to be expected, of course. After all, Charlemagne knows all the tricks.

Or almost all of them.

Charlemagne's thumb digs into the scar left by Valentine's bullet for a moment longer, then he backs away. His suit is light grey, his tie a complementary shade of lavender; even the greying hair at his temples is an elegant accessory. With his glasses and expensive haircut, he could still pass for a Kingsman. "Maybe not a thank-you note," he says. "After all, they did fail."

Harry permits himself the smallest of smiles at that.

"And I suppose I should be thankful they did," Charlemagne says. "Because it means you now have the opportunity to help me."

"I'm afraid you've abducted the wrong person for that," Harry says coldly.

"Oh no, I think I did," Charlemagne says. He sounds smug. "You and I are going to Savile Row. You're going to take me down the lift, and then we're going to take a ride."

He has balls, Harry has to give him that. "And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't," Charlemagne says, "I'm going to have your friend killed."

Harry freezes. He doesn't even draw breath in that moment.

"He _is_ your friend, am I right? That new young agent? Gawain, I believe?" Charlemagne smiles a little. "He put up more of a fight than you did. I guess you're getting slow in your old age."

Harry's heart thuds painfully in his chest. Eggsy. They have Eggsy. Because of course Charlemagne isn't working alone, even if he is the only one standing here right now.

"I want to talk to him," Harry says. He's aware that it's his first mistake, that he's just playing into Charlemagne's hands –- but he can't help it. They have _Eggsy._

"Of course," Charlemagne says. Then his gaze slides away slightly, the look of a Kingsman speaking to someone only he can hear. "Show me the boy."

The glasses, of course. Twelve years gone, and the exile is still using Kingsman tricks of the trade.

Charlemagne reaches up and removes his glasses. He leans in. "Have a look." He slides them on Harry's nose.

Right away Harry realises that these are quite different from Kingsman glasses. The upper half of the left lens shows a different view. Not this room, but one like it. And yes, there is Eggsy. Bound to a chair the same way he is. Gagged and beaten, dried blood crusting his nose and trailing from a cut on his brow. He's conscious, though, and glaring at whoever is on the other end of those glasses, looking at him so steadily.

The sight fills Harry with an unreasoning terror and a red rage that seriously threatens to undo his composure. His first, impulsive instinct is to test the strength of those ropes tying him to the chair. Only two things stop him. The first is knowing that he will surely fail; if he were not securely bound Charlemagne would never be bold enough to touch him so casually. The second is far worse -– the knowledge that if he tries anything, whoever is on the other end of those glasses will hurt Eggsy.

So he must remain passive for now. He can accept that, just barely. As soon as he knows Eggsy is free, however…

"What is it you want?" he says. It's not a betrayal if he doesn't truly mean it, he tells himself. He will play along with Charlemagne's plan for now, but in the quiet, dark corners of his mind, Harry is already making his own plans. He knows perfectly well that what he intends is dangerous, but the level of risk for himself is acceptable. Eggsy is the one he must think of. Whatever he does now, it's all for Eggsy. He knows that's his second mistake, putting Eggsy before Kingsman, but he doesn't care.

_For you, anything._

"I told you," Charlemagne says as he takes his glasses back. "We're going for a ride."

Harry can't begin to speculate what his real purpose is. What could he need at Kingsman HQ? Does he want to kill Arthur? Does he even know Chester King is dead?

"If I do this," he says, "you will let him go."

"Isn't that how these things work?" Charlemagne says. He smiles. "I thought that went without saying."

"Say it anyway," Harry snaps.

The small smile disappears from Charlemagne's face. He regards Harry coolly. "Get me down that lift, and I will tell them to release your boy. Does that satisfy you?"

Not in the slightest, but it's the best he's going to get. Harry nods. "Yes."

"Good," Charlemagne says. "Now then. You and I are going for a ride. When we reach the shop you will take me into the fitting room and down the lift. You will not speak to anyone or alert anyone in any way that something is wrong. Is that understood? If I even think you've given me away, I'll order my men to kill your boy."

Harry stares at him and doesn't bother to disguise his hatred and contempt. "I thought that went without saying."

Charlemagne's lips curl up in the slightest smile. "Indeed." He walks past the chair where Harry is bound, over to the table near the wall. "Let's get started then." He picks up a very sharp knife and approaches. "Hold still."

Harry tenses up, waiting for the moment when the knife cuts through the ropes holding him to the chair. Instead he is utterly helpless as Charlemagne slides the blade deep in his abdomen.

There is no pain at first. Harry stares at him in shock, unable to quite comprehend what just happened. It's not until Charlemagne pulls the blade out, excruciatingly slowly, that he understands.

"That was for me," Charlemagne says. Blood glistens on the bright silver, almost coating the entire blade.

The pain comes then, a deep throbbing that makes Harry want to curl up around it and moan. He has to content himself with hanging his head and leaning forward as far as he can in his bonds. He manages to clench his jaw against the undignified sounds he wants to make, but he can't help the harsh note of his breathing.

Charlemagne cuts the ropes holding him to the chair. "I'll untie your hands when we get there," he says. His lack of trust could almost be funny, except there is nothing remotely humorous about the hot blood seeping down Harry's stomach.

They leave the flat together, Charlemagne holding Harry's right arm above the elbow. Walking is hard, incredibly painful, especially with his hands still bound behind him. Harry focuses on that brief glimpse he had of Eggsy, quietly nurtures his anger, and tries not to moan out loud.

There is a car waiting for them outside. Harry glances around but sees no one; although it's still late afternoon, the street is deserted. Nobody sees him stumble as he gets in the car, or the way he collapses back against the seat, unable to stay silent then but uttering a low cry of pain. He crumples forward, hands curled into fists behind his back, and presses his forehead against the back of the seat in front of him.

The door shuts as Charlemagne gets in beside him. "The noble Galahad, ladies and gentlemen," he says. He chuckles a little, amused by his own wit.

The drive to Savile Row does not take long. Charlemagne does not speak to him, thankfully. Harry tries to remain still and formulates a plan in his mind. All he needs is to hear that Eggsy has been released. Just three little words: _release the boy._

And in the meantime, he has to stay alive. Fight past the pain and the increasing difficulty he is having just trying to breathe. He's been stabbed before, and he knows what that means, knows far more than he would care to about human anatomy and what is happening to him now. He doesn't want to think about that, though, about the wound in his diaphragm and how much time he has before one of his lungs collapses.

He has to think of Eggsy. Everything he does now is for Eggsy.

The car turns a corner. Harry thinks of the bright smile Eggsy gave him this morning as he came thumping down the stairs, hair still wet from his shower, tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar. Eggsy always smiles at him like that, always so pleased to see him. And Harry can't help but smile back, can't help but feel an answering lift in his chest every time he looks at Eggsy, because he has never been so happy, never even realized there was such a thing, never even realised -–

Pain cuts through him that has nothing to do with the stab wound in his abdomen. It's the pain of understanding come too late.

He is in love with Eggsy.

He is in love with Eggsy and Eggsy is in danger right now because of him and there is nothing, nothing, he wouldn't do for Eggsy.

The car comes to a rather jerky stop at a traffic light. Harry sways forward helplessly and clenches his jaw against a groan of pain. 

"I should thank you," Charlemagne says. "You actually did me a favour when you had me exiled from Kingsman. I'm much better off working on my own. It took being set free to figure that out, though."

Harry doesn't respond. He's thinking of all the ways he can kill Charlemagne once they get down the lift. He's thinking that he's going to repay the man for every hurt he saw on Eggsy's face during that brief glimpse he had. He's thinking that he has to make it through this, he has to survive, because he has to tell Eggsy the truth.

Whatever else happens, he has to see Eggsy again.

They reach the shop and the driver parks the car. "Remember what I said," Charlemagne says.

Harry just nods as the rope about his wrists is removed and he's finally able to bring his arms around. Even that small movement hurts badly enough to white out his vision and make him want to curl up in agony. He has no idea how he is going to feign normalcy within the shop. One glance down is enough to see that the bloodstain spreading across his shirt hasn't reached high enough yet to be visible over his suit jacket. And he doesn't dare speak to Andrew, not to say the code word that will alert Kingsman of a coerced arrival, not to even say good-afternoon.

His unusual silence by itself might be enough of an alarm, though. He is always the gentleman, always greeting Andrew or whoever is working in the shop that day. And he is not in the habit of bringing anyone to Savile Row, not since the morning he came here with Eggsy. But he will not hope for that. He can only rely on himself.

"Time to go," Charlemagne says.

Getting out of the car is more difficult than getting in was. The pain in his abdomen has spread to his chest and it's hard to breathe. He stumbles again, but Charlemagne is right there, taking his arm like a solicitous friend. "I can't wait to see this place," he says, probably for the benefit of anyone passing by on the pavement. "I've heard so much about it."

Harry tries to stand up straight, almost chokes on the pain, and finally manages it.

Together they walk inside. Charlemagne hovers close by, not touching him anymore but close enough to act quickly should Harry do anything unexpected. The interior of the shop is warm and welcoming, thanks to the fire burning in the hearth. A young couple is browsing through the selection of fabrics, the young man proud and preening, a diamond ring on the lady's finger. Andrew is offering them a bolt of tweed, but he pauses to smile and greet Harry.

Harry smiles back as best he can, and leads Charlemagne to fitting room one. Every step is an agony. It's all he can do not to clutch at his stomach.

As soon as the door closes behind them, he sags back against it. Charlemagne turns to him. "The lift."

"Tell them to release my friend," Harry says. He's a little shocked by how breathless he sounds.

"After we've gone down," Charlemagne says.

It's for Eggsy, Harry tells himself. It's all for Eggsy. What happens to him doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is keeping Eggsy safe.

He hobbles over to the mirror and lays his hand on the glass.

The room starts to descend. He thinks back to the night when Eggsy stood here beside him, so young and beautiful in spite of the fresh bruises on his face. The night it all began. The night he first fell in love, even if he was too much of a fool to not realise it until just now, when it might be too late.

"I have to admit I didn't expect you to give in so easily," Charlemagne says. "I can't tell if I'm disappointed or not."

Harry says nothing. He feels feverish, his entire body strung out with heat and pain. He leans against the wall, one hand pressed to his abdomen. He has to fight for every breath now, and he can hear the gasping noises he's making, but he can't stop.

Down and down they go -– _how deep does this fucking thing go?_ -– and oh how he hopes Eggsy will be all right. All Eggsy needs is a chance, just one chance to save himself. That's what he is doing now, that's why he is doing this. It's all for Eggsy.

The lift arrives at the station. The shuttle is there, waiting to take them to HQ. Charlemagne walks out and stops to look back at him impatiently.

Harry is slower to follow. He has to brace himself with one arm on the wall. His shirt is soaked through with blood; the navy of his suit jacket is turning black. His legs feel shaky, like they aren't going to hold him up much longer.

"Tell them," he gasps.

Charlemagne gazes at him coolly, then nods. He reaches up to touch his glasses, which is something of a surprise. Harry hadn't realized they weren't active all this time.

"Let the –" Charlemagne starts to say, and then he breaks off. His eyes narrow. "He did _what_?"

Eggsy is already free, then. That's all Harry needs to hear. He should have known, should have realized Eggsy could take care of himself.

For a single heartbeat he lets himself indulge in a moment of pride and triumph, then he knocks his heels together and throws himself forward. Pain rips through his chest and stomach, but he doesn't hesitate. While Charlemagne is still standing there, surprised and angry, Harry kicks his leg out from under him, the blade in his shoe slicing through both Charlemagne's trousers and his skin with equal ease.

As far as fatal attacks go, it's fairly pitiful. Charlemagne shouts in pained surprise and falls, then immediately surges back up to his feet. Harry tries to move away, but he has nothing left, no speed, no grace, no air in his lungs. Charlemagne's fist loops down, hitting him once, twice, and then he's down on his hands and knees.

 _I'm going to die here_ , Harry thinks. But though he is down and beaten, another assault never comes. He manages to lift his head, and through the blood streaming down his face he sees the horrified shock in Charlemagne's eyes as he realises that he is dying.

The neurotoxin works fast. Charlemagne staggers back a single step, and then he falls flat on his back. He twitches a couple times and a horrible stench rises in the air. Then he is still.

Harry sways a little. His arms want to buckle and spill him to the floor. He drags in a thin breath and starts to crawl forward.

Charlemagne's glasses slide off his face easily. Harry puts them on with a bloody hand. "Who is this?"

"Harry!" Eggsy's voice comes through perfectly clear. The view on the left lens is in motion, a wobbly up and down that indicates the person wearing the glasses is running. He's on a street, weaving through parked cars and pedestrians alike. "Harry, are you there?"

"I'm here," Harry says. He struggles for breath and shuts his eyes for a moment, overcome with relief.

"Where are you?" Eggsy demands.

"The shop," Harry says. He would like to get up and walk, but he knows he will never make it. Wearily he starts to crawl again, back toward the lift. He has a terrible feeling he isn't going to reach it before he collapses for good.

"I'm almost there," Eggsy says. "Hang on. Just hang on."

The lift seems impossibly far away. He leaves bloody handprints behind as he crawls. "Eggsy." It's the last word he's able to say; he can't get enough air in his lungs to speak.

"Almost there," Eggsy says. He sounds frantic, his voice too loud in Harry's ear. "Just hang on, Harry. Okay?"

He curls up in the corner of the lift. It feels much larger than it normally does, the confines of the small room made wider somehow. Pain burns through him and he moans a little, even though he tries his best not to.

"Harry. Harry!" Eggsy's voice is so close, so loud. He winces back. Someone is gasping. A hand touches his face.

The glasses. He can't let anyone take them. They're his only link to Eggsy. He tries to turn away and even that small movement is too much.

With one last gasp for air, he stops fighting.

****

"We gotta stop meeting like this," Eggsy says with a strained smile. He sits in the chair in Medical with the air of someone who's been there for hours already. Most likely he has been.

Wrapped in a comfortable haze of drugs and painkillers, Harry can only give him a weak smile in return. He would like to tell Eggsy how much he loves him, but speaking is beyond him just now. He can only hope Eggsy can see the truth in his eyes.

And maybe Eggsy can, because his eyes grow bright with unshed tears as he squeezes Harry's hand. "I know you like to think of us as knights and all," he says, his voice rather hoarse, "but we really need to have a talk about this whole chivalry thing. No more takin' hits for me, you got it?"

 _For you, anything_ , Harry thinks. But whether it's agreement or denial, he can't say for sure.

He very much hopes, though, that he'll never have to find out.


End file.
